


The fantastic Valentines days of test subjects

by MadMaxxing



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Scarecrow's Fear Toxin (DCU), Self-indulgent violence, Ultraviolence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:34:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29431050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadMaxxing/pseuds/MadMaxxing
Summary: Have you ever wondered what Jonathan Crane does with the test subjects he doesn't immediately kill? Sometimes there's fates worse than death.
Kudos: 1





	The fantastic Valentines days of test subjects

**Author's Note:**

> This is absolutely self indulgent because it's been a horrible couple days and I need to get this out of my system somehow.

The smell of the room is **stagnant**. There’s blood, piss and sweat. Something else lays underneath the miasma of filth. A deep rooted, long rotten sensation of fear that keeps the place together with an iron, mangy claw.

The monster’s latest victim opens their eyes as the strong stench of salts forces them back to consciousness. They want to turn their head away, to _shut their eyes again_ and go back to the uneasy but numb nightmare that they’ve gotten used to in the last weeks.

Of course, it won’t allow it.

They open their eyes. Today, it’s wearing a different mask. The base clearly is cut from a deer skull, if the antlers are anything to go back. It’s haphazardly jammed fangs into the places it should have teeth. The skull itself has been carved to have sharper features that create aggressive, sharp shadows. Stretched over it, a human face. The eye holes don’t quite match, but it doesn’t seem to mind. It knows the room like the back of its hand. The rest of its outfit is just about as gnarly, a layer of burlap the naked, tan flesh at parts, held together with rope and bones. The smell of blood is stronger as it reaches out a hand at their face-

They close their eyes, expecting a harsh touch, but instead, the fingers ghost just barely over their skin, causing goosebumps and a shiver down their spine. It keeps going, lacing its fingers on the back of their head, through their hair. Their eyes become wide with confusion and expectant fear.

“Lately I haven’t been feeling myself, you see.” Its voice is husky- slurring at parts, with an accent that they can’t identify. Are they drunk? It’s usually sharp and precise. “I’ve been having to rest. With so many thoughts…. I think you dislike being trapped with me as much as I do.” The skull comes closer to their face, and they try to inch away from the leathery touch of the tanned human face brushing against their cheek. There’s tears starting to well up at their eyes already.

_“It’s a pity neither have a choice.”_

It lingers like an awaited breath of a lover and then, it pulls back quickly, a shard of the deer skull causing a thin line of red to appear on their cheek- they hardly have time to gasp before its gone in the darkness.

How long have they been there? Longer than any of the others. They don’t remember their name. It has made sure to render them to its plaything, something that screams and pleads and feeds it. They’re sure it feeds this way. Why else would anyone do this? Sheer sadistic pleasure?

As it stalks out in the darkness of the room, they think of the world outside. They’ve heard laughter, young ones calling for someone. The first times they were curious, tempted to call out for help for the older one. They froze in the realization its voiced called out for the young ones to get away from the room.

They aren’t quite sure what form is true to the thing. It keeps changing faces, sometimes it hangs cloth around its body, decorating it. It always seems to strive to inspire terror.

Something is pushed into the light, and the glare of the light reflecting off this item is enough to rack their body with terror- to make them whimper and press up against the chair they’re secured to. It shushes them quietly. “We haven’t even gotten started yet.” It tells them.

They wish its words held any actual comfort.

It flicks a switch on the shiny item and brings a rod towards them. It locks it in place, and disappears again. They stare at the rod, breathing heavily. Trying to say something, yet the scar on their neck long since prevented them from any actual speech past nonsensical babbling. They can scream, they can cry. Really, it’s the only thing it wants them to do.

Next they see it, it’s eyes glint with a deep maliciousness, a callous hatred for everything else that it doesn’t love. It aims a second rod, this one hollow on the inside- and a puff of sickly orange gas surrounds their head. It giggles, shaky like its body is racked by a sudden cold wind, as they shake their head and refuse to breathe at first. It’s the cloud that brings out the panic. They prefer the dread.

A punch to the gut makes them reflexively empty their lungs, and with that, they have to breath in. The effect of the gas is immediate. The darkness, placid until now, starts to encroach closer, growing eyes and teeth and claws. The thing before them laughs a dry, slow and cruel laugh as it watches the panic take over, their eyes flickering from side to side, body tensing and thrashing against the restrains that hold them firmly in place.

It lunges forward like a panther pouncing on prey, digging its fingers into their cheek. Somehow, despite the screaming, they can hear its voice clear as day, thundering against their ears. It’s no longer slurred, but matching the frenzy they’ve been sent to. “I want to do so many things to you. So many things. I want to peel your skin off your body and leave it out to dry, I want to carve you inside out and I want to hunt you and hurt you so badly. I want to hear your howls of pain and fear and by fear. So many things I want to do, and you know that’s the worst?” It whispers, digging claws that pierce holes into their skin, forcing their mouth open and locking it in place.

“I never get tired of it. Of hearing bone crack and glass shatter. Sometimes I know I’d be happy grabbing someone’s neck and snapping it just to hear the sound….” And its tone grows dark, a chuckle dense like tar as it moves closer onto them, threatening to crush their lap and belly. A warmth pools at their chest and crotch. Blood, drool and piss. “But that’s why I have you.”

The screams go on for hours as it laughs, hurting them and whispering terrors into their ear just to spur more screaming on when their throat begins to give out. There’s a point in which they can only manage a raspy wheeze, and it watches with disappointment as the amusement is gone. Its shoulders square up as it seems to get ready to throw up, and they’re about to try and make a whimpering noise as claws suddenly anchor onto either of their sides, tearing out another wheezy, broken scream. The deer skull falls off its head to reveal a featureless chunk of meat, thick and leathery, with three slits at either side- it’s perfectly sealed mandibles part open, and it finally feeds, teeth sinking around their face as it sucks every ounce of fear it can out of them.

They don’t have the strength to fight back. Their face, beaten and bloody, meets no more cleaning than what their tears and drool provide, and by the time it’s done eating, they’ve gone limp.

It waits a few minutes before climbing off his latest test subject. He’s panting, and by the time his face goes back to the shape it usually is, he’s reaching out for the recorder. “With that, so concludes my latest session of trauma toxin. Signed, Jonathan Crane. Happy Valentines, everyone.” He chuckles, wiping his mouth.


End file.
